Turning tides
The scent hits me hard: a woozy concoction of honeysuckle, cow parsley and mown grass. Greenery is spilling over into the road, long strands of grass kissing the tarmac. Dog roses – also known as witches’ briar – fling their petals out, and I wonder what spell the hedgerows will cast today.
In Northumberland, summer is hard at work. Not always under the heat of a burning sun, but with a fierce energy, as the world throbs and ripens all around
